


sordid, chaste

by kapymui



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Romance, its extremely droll im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kapymui/pseuds/kapymui
Summary: Xander gets thrown a pathetic excuse for a bachelor party.





	sordid, chaste

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fic ive written since i was 12 have mercy

* * *

 

 

“I told you that I have no need for a bachelor party.”

Laslow chuckled, answering back, “Of course milord. I would never undermine your authority.”

“It would not be the first time,” Xander deadpanned.

Laslow clasps his hand over his heart in feigned offense, letting out a sharp, theatrical gasp, “You wound me. You truly wound me. And allow me to correct you. This is merely, say, a get-together of some of your male comrades commemorating your final days of being unmarried before your wedding next week.”

“So,” Xander said, unable to control the exasperation in his tone,”a bachelor party.”

Truth be told, Xander’s resistance was half-hearted at best. He couldn’t help but be genuinely curious as to where Laslow intended to lead with all of this. Still, despite his curiosity, he was already growing dubious as he was lead to a large table, barren save for the few pints of ale scattered across the top of it, some already shamefully empty likely due to some of the surrounding company growing impatient and weary from waiting down there too long.

Xander took a moment to attach names to the present faces. To his immediate right, Laslow—already attempting to offer him a pint and one of his signature dashing smiles—and next to him his mage friend of too many idiosyncrasies and looking far too excited, Odin. Right across sat Leo—suppressing an embarrassed scowl—and next to him sat Niles, who’s slightly flushed face and more slovenly-than-usual posture naturally caused Xander to peg him down as the cause for most of the empty pints on the table. Gods. What an underwhelming gathering.

“If it was a bachelor party,” Laslow said,”I would call it a bachelor party. Haven’t you ever heard of having a drink with old friends?”

“Trust me brother,” Leo spoke up, crossing his arms, “I had better things to do as well.”

“You know if it was a bachelor party,” Niles said then, leaning into his hand and giving Xander a lurid look someone of his status should never give the Crown Prince, “it’s a preeeeetty awful one then. I mean, what kind of bachelor party doesn’t have at least one or two dancers from Cyrkensia.” Xander greyed at the sheer thought.

Odin suddenly got to his feet then, as if the wide stance was necessary for withstanding the sheer power and might of his verbiage. “Consider this a test of bonds Prince Xander! We will enrich our bodies with ale and reveal to each other the secrets of men!”

Xander raised an eyebrow at him, unsure of what to interpret of the phrase “secrets of men”. He quickly set that thought aside, however, and instead contemplated on all the unfinished paperwork he was working on up in his quarters before Laslow had suddenly come in and decided he “absolutely needed to come downstairs for something absolutely, positively important.” Most of the abandoned paperwork were fortunately not of immediate urgency: the usual signature needed for a commendation of some scholar, an agreement to sign over property to some farmers, a recognition of some truce between competing blacksmiths, the usual, really. There was however, a much delayed settlement on payment to the florist that would supply the decorators with the necessary lilacs and roses for the wedding ceremony in a next week. Lilacs and roses, being Corrin’s favorites, made it one of the numerous facets of their wedding of paramount importance to Xander (if there is such a thing as paramount importance, especially when in relative to the fact that Xander devotes an equal and unhealthy amount of intensity to every single aspect of the whole occasion). So, of course, he would not risk it.

“I’m leaving.” Blunt. Cold. But it was more important for him to be a good fiance than a good drinking buddy, so he hardly felt a shred of guilt as he stood up and made his way out the door.

Laslow hesitantly stood up, unsure if he was actually capable of swaying his liege’s mind, considering he’s never had before. Knowing this, he could only manage to sputter out a pitiful “Wait, stop.” Niles very cheekily murmured to his own liege, “See? I told you he’s too uptight for this.” Odin, making a dejected noise, seemed to be the only one genuinely disappointed at Xander’s decision to leave.

But he was not the only genuinely disappointed one, as Leo had shot out his arm and blocked his older brother in his path out the front doors and away from the sorry excuse of a men’s only night.

“Wait, Xander,” he said quietly, looking down at his full pint.

Xander looked down at him, startled at his younger brother’s suddenness and expecting him to be one of the last persons on earth to actually want to drag this situation on further than it had to go.

“It wouldn’t be bad to...have at least have one pint with us,” Leo floundered,”Starting next week, you’ll be swept up in marriage and duties of the crown and…”

“Be direct, milord,” Niles prodded, his eyes closed as he took a deep sip of his ale.

Leo exhaled, “Well. We may not have any other opportunity to bond as brothers again anytime soon.”

Xander balked at Leo, at his current situation, at his own negligence. He can certainly come off as the heartless and frightening Nohrian prince at times, but the truth was that he was a mere mortal man who had time and time again allowed his secretly supple heart to be swayed by the pleas of a younger sibling feeling neglected and abandoned. And it was so, upon hearing Leo’s words, he could not help the small pangs of guilt in his chest. He sighed, contemplated his situation for a moment more, then finally took off his coat, draped it over the back of his chair, and sat down.

“Just one pint.” he declared.

Leo gave him a small smile. Niles raised his brows, but chuckled to himself, contented at least by Leo’s small satisfaction.

“I never doubted you would possess the spirit of camaraderie and brotherhood in you, Prince Xander!” Odin exclaimed.

“You know,” Laslow started, “This whole thing was Prince Leo’s ide—“

The icy glare Leo shot in his direction stopped him from finishing the thought. 

Xander, pretending to not have heard that, looked around at his company once more. He furrowed his brow. “Not to say that I’m ungrateful for all of your company, nor do I wish for anymore persons to be added to the current mix, but it feels a little…” he cleared his throat, struggling to find the right word, “ _humbling_ that apparently in all my life, my only friends are my retainer, my brother...and his retainers.”

Niles guffawed, which in a sober state would’ve only been a quiet snicker. Either way, it had earned an elbow to the ribs from the younger prince. Laslow blinked at Xander, his dashing smile melting into something more sheepish.

“Ah well,” Laslow began, “We tried to invite more of our mutual friends. Jakob and Kaze said it would feel too inappropriate to drink with their lady’s fiance. Arthur had accepted the invitation, but we had heard from some maids that on the way down here, he tripped and somehow flung himself out the window,” he couldn’t help but cringe as he explained this, “and is now currently in the medical ward to nurse his injuries. And we figured Prince Ryoma wouldn’t want to travel all the way from Hoshido for this little bachel--,” a forced cough, “little get-together.”

“I see,” Xander said.

Then, in the pretense of speaking to himself, Laslow drawled, “Also, you’re downright scary. It’s hard thinking of anymore men willing to drink with you.”

Xander frowned. Perhaps if Laslow were still a newer addition to his retinue, he would’ve scolded him. But at this point, Xander grew too tired of expending energy into appropriately reacting to every single instance of Laslow’s indolence to propriety. Instead, the offense Xander would’ve felt was taken up by Odin.

“Do not fret, Prince Xander!” Odin exclaimed, having never sat back down since Xander had first entered the room, “It’s all about quality of company! Not quantity! And you, my friend, have the good fortune tonight to drink with one of the greatest and most titillating dark mages of all of history! I, Odin Dark, will grant you the privilege of my wit and insight that you are sure to find merry in!”

Niles set his pint down on the table with a brutish force far too indicative of how much he had already drunk. “Can you find that ‘merry’ for me too? Make this a worthwhile night for me, Odin Dark, because I can think of a hundred other things I would rather be doing--Leo, for one.”

Leo turned sharply to Niles, his face already reddening, and hissed, “ _Niles_! I warned you to not to make those kind of innuendos when we’re with my brother!”

Niles rolled his head, not a care in the world to affect him. “Ah, well. Blame the ale.”

Xander coughed. “No worries Leo. I’m not so easily scandalized.”

“Yes Lord Leo!” Odin interjected, “Your brother has been on the front line for some of the bloodiest battles of the ages! I’ve seen him impale and decapitate hundreds upon hundreds of men as if he were the bloodthirsty god of war himself! The sheer, immense force that is his being could not afford to be slighted by something as trivial as Niles’s worldplay!” He puffed out his chest like a young boy bragging triumphantly about his older brother.

Xander blinked, having never been fond of being overpraised for his battlefield accomplishments. “‘Bloodthirsty god of war…?’”

“Ahem, yes, thank you Odin for thinking so highly of milord,” Laslow said, a little embarrassed for his friend, “Though I’m not so sure he’s quite as unflappable as you make him out to be.”

“What do you mean?” Odin asked.

“You ought to see him around Corrin. He gets all fumbly and red all the way up to his ears speaking to her. The first time I saw it, I hardly believed it was the Lord Xander I served.”

Xander stared wide eyed at his retainer, “ _Laslow_.”

Laslow, in his signature impudence, continued, “Once, when he was in the middle of an address to the royal council, I had slipped him a note that Corrin had fainted from a high fever and--would you believe it?--he bolted from the room with barely a warning! It took all of my charms that day to squelch the council’s anger on his behalf.”

“Ah,” Leo began before his brother could have his chance to cease wherever the conversation was going, “I heard that story. For as long as I remember, Xander has always been wrapped around Corrin’s finger, hasn’t he? Even when we were children.”

Xander sputtered, “I would do the same if I heard you or Elise or Camilla fell that severely ill.

“Maybe, but I doubt you would hold any of our hands at the bedside for four hours like you did Corrin’s.”

Niles quirked a brow. “I received a dire flesh wound in battle once and Xander here just told me to walk it off. Where’s _my_ adoring treatment, Prince Xander?

“I said no such thing to you. You never even approached me with a flesh wound before,” Xander snapped.

“No, but you would if I did.”

“I would not.”

Perhaps it was because of the little bit of ale that Leo had drunk earlier that had settled into him and made him feel a little more bubbly and light, or perhaps it was because he secretly could be humored by Niles’ sadistic jibes; either way, he suddenly laughed. His sudden peals of laughter in turn caused Odin, ever the faithful retainer ready to validate his liege’s humor, to laugh along with him. Laslow, rarely having the opportunity to laugh along with others at the expense of his lord, couldn’t help his own sniggers. Niles, his elbow propped up against the back of his chair and his head rested against his knuckles, smiled at Xander with the look of _they’re-finally-laughing-so-are-you-really-going-to-ruin-their-enjoyment._

Xander. Crown Prince Xander of Nohr. The Xander that can count every instance in his life of loosening his cravat and having a drink for _fun_ on one hand. Xander, who was more used to being in a room of nobles and landowners with leering looks and hidden political agendas than being in a room with friends sharing in laughter, even if the subject of ridicule was himself. But that’s what friends did when they were comfortable with each other, right? Make teasing jibes, get drunk with each other, be willing to spend the night in a dusty castle basement because the company was worthwhile.

He gave a small smile amongst the laughter, and raised his pint to his lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, likely because Laslow had an impressive knack for stealthily refilling glasses when the owner wasn’t paying attention, Xander’s promised single pint turned to two. And then three. And then four. His usual ramrod posture slouched, his vest and collar became unbuttoned, and his hair fell out of it’s typical impeccable arrangement. He laughed often, but did not share jokes--his drunken self still did not know how to make a joke. Still, there was more of an easy sway to him as the words tumbled out of his mouth more freely and the teasing jostling came more unrestrained. In combination with the fact that the others were also becoming quite drunk, forgetting themselves, their statuses, or any titles the others might’ve bore, talking to Xander had no longer felt like a daunting task where one wrong word would lead to a public beheading (a more sober Xander would insist he’s not that severe). The company found themselves quite delighted at the ease they had managed to coax out with humoring the prince, which most of them would unfortunately not remember much of in the morning.

Niles, finishing up a good bout of laughter to one of Odin’s stories of how Leo once rushed out into the training grounds in his nightgown, leaned over to Xander, a mischievous glint in his single, good eye, and asked “So, Prince Xander, are you excited?”

Xander, also settling down his laughter, blinked at Niles, “To be married? Yes actually, I’m very excited.”

“No, not that! For the festivities afterwards!” Niles rolled his eye when Xander still could not pick up the insinuation, “The honeymoon, you dolt!”

Xander suddenly coughed, the sip of ale he had while he was listening to Niles having betrayed him, “Oh. I see. Well I can’t say I haven’t not if at all put any thought to that aspect.”

“That didn’t make any sense, “ Laslow said.

“I’m as clear as I want to be,” Xander rather petulantly insisted.

Niles huffed, unsatisfied by the answer, “Perhaps you’re not that excited because it’d be nothing new for you. Don’t tell me you and Princess Corrin already--”

Xander brought his pint down to the table with a loud, angry clatter, his drunken red complexion somehow finding the capacity to turn even redder, “I refuse to entertain this subject any longer.”

“Yes Niles,” Leo drawled, placing his hand lazily on Niles’ shoulder, “I order you to stop tormenting my brother. Anyhow, there isn’t even enough ale in the kingdom to get him to talk about that kind of stuff.”

Niles turned his face to Leo and gave a rather inappropriately affectionate grin, his good eye crinkling with an unabashed fondness. “Ah, but we did already cover that our Prince Xander is not so easily slighted, didn’t we, Odin?”

Odin stood up again, but with much less coordination and much more rough, sudden contact with the edge of the table, “Perhaps this is not a matter of being slighted, Niles! Rather a man in love-,” a hiccup, “wishing to protect his romance from the gawkery of outsiders. A noble man, P-,” another hiccup, “-rince Xander is, truly! That even after four pints, and in the secrecy of company, he would not so easily expel his lustful thou--”

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT MY BROTHER’S LUSTFUL THOUGHTS.”

The table balked at the younger prince’s sudden outburst.

Xander took the moment of everyone’s loss for words to compose himself, cleared his throat, and began to say, “And I don’t wish to relay those kind of thoughts anytime soon. Please, can we just forget this topic and--”

He was interrupted when the door to the room slowly creaked open, a low feminine purr of “Hellooo? We’ve arrived” that was just barely audible from the other side of it. To most men, these would be rather innocuous noises; hardly a note above the mundane and unremarkable. To Xander, with his uncanny sense for danger refined by years of combat training and war, he found that the air turned inexplicably bone-chilling as the hair on his skin stood up on end. His blood suddenly surged as the adrenaline kicked in, his entire body coming alive with the sharp inclination to fight-or-flight. He looked over and beheld there, in the doorway, the finite, undeniable proof that he was definitely, without a doubt, at his own bachelor party.

It must be established that Xander came from quite a long line of familial scandal. His father, and his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father were keen to satisfying their more ravenous indulgences--women in particular. So they were not without their numerous concubines, mistresses and especially not without their love of the more risqué dance performances often held at the Cyrkensia floating theater house. The two women in the doorway, which everyone in the room was quick to identify from their scant clothing and gold adornments as hired dancers from the very same theater house, were privy to the reputation of his family, so no one could blame them for the two key assumptions they made that night: that Xander shared his male predecessors’ carnal appetite, and that there’s good money to be made from the _Crown Prince’s_ bachelor party.

They couldn’t have known that the sheer thought of concubines and mistresses turned Xander’s stomach; that his trauma with the concubine wars have molded him to a man completely and utterly unlike his predecessors; that, because of his seemingly severe disinclination towards romance for so many years, the castle staff would often speculate Xander would be unmarried forever; that when news of his relationship with Corrin first broke out, his siblings just about sighed in relief because their eldest brother was getting a little too old to still be single.

So as the two dancers sauntered over to Xander, all bosom and midriff and legs and swaying, noisy jewelry and not nearly enough clothing for that chilly autumn night, they were confident they could fulfill the prince’s cravings--that Xander even had these cravings for other women. So it completely threw them off guard when instead, he bolted upright and barged right through them and out the door.

He’d find out later that they were friends of friends of Laslow, whom, despite Leo’s objections to inviting any dancers whatsoever, had went ahead and invited anyway because he felt it his duty to make the night at least somewhat enjoyable. How could Laslow have known that he was retainer to one of the few men on Earth that could remain this much of a stick in the mud after getting that drunk?

 

* * *

 

 

Corrin couldn’t understand it. The past few years being finally free of the Northern Fortress have been some of the happiest of her life. In that short time span, she’s met more people and seen more wonders than she’s ever had in the thirteen years she’s spent cooped up in her lonely stone tower. She’s basked in the warmth of the Hoshidan sunlight, scaled the treacherous jagged terrain of the Nohrian peaks, stood in the shadows of the floating isles of Valla, befriended the likes of a snarky wolfman, a mage cursed with eternal youth, a nihilistic monk--and that’s all just to start with. Most importantly, on a cool summer afternoon just a few months ago, a certain man had dropped down to one knee and asked to share her future with her, that he would be allowed to cherish her unconditionally, that she may never feel the grips of loneliness on her heart ever again.

So she couldn’t understand why, sitting in her bedroom at Castle Krakenburg, she never felt more frustrated and alone.

After much reflection—and yes, this soul-searching reflection was necessary, since she was not going to settle her thoughts down and fall back asleep anytime soon—, she realized it was because she had the taste of true, unrestrained freedom—of running down grassy hilltops with her sisters; of accompanying her maids to the bustling marketplace and buying up every knick knack that happened to catch her eye; of sneaking out at night with her fiance because the astronomy tower would not have offered a close enough view to the meteor shower; of sharing a chaste kiss as the wonders of the universe streaked across the night sky above them. Back in the Northern Fortress, Corrin never knew how much joy and beauty life had to offer; she couldn’t be sad for something she could not miss. But now, forced to retire to her bedroom for the night out of compliance to some silly castle curfew, she was restless. Insatiable.

That insufferable Xander. Always such a Prince Fuddy-Duddy and a stickler for the rules. Really, he’s not going to be smote down by some divine being if he was see out late at night with Corrin. They were getting married next week! And why is it suddenly inappropriate to share a bed now when they’ve done it so much as children? Corrin sighed. If she wasn’t around, Xander probably would’ve gotten married to an etiquette book. And they would’ve been very happy together in their loving, supportive, stupid marriage.

Her musings were interrupted by quick, harsh raps on her door. Corrin jumped, never expecting company this late at night--that anyone else would even be awake this late. She got up from her window nook, smoothed out her nightgown, and went over to the door.

“Who is it?” she said loud and clear, leaning her ear to the door.

“It’s me.”

The subdued deepness to the voice was unmistakable.

Corrin furrowed her brow, wondering if perhaps the combination of lack of sleep and desperate longing for company was causing her to hallucinate things. Regardless, she quickly fussed with the locks and threw open the door.

And there stood Prince Fuddy-Duddy himself, breaking curfew and every single rule of propriety there is in existence.

“Xander?!” she couldn’t help but exclaim, “What are you doing here?!”

He stared at her in silence, as if hoping Corrin could just piece together what happened just by looking at him. She scrunched her eyebrows at his lack of verbal reply and looked him up and down. His hair was disheveled, his top unbuttoned, his cravat undone, his face was slightly flushed, and she managed to catch a whiff of…

“Ale,” she concluded, “You’re drunk.”

“I suppose I am.”

Corrin gawked at him. In all her years she’s known Xander, she’s never actually had seen him _drunk_. A part of her even believed he wasn’t even _capable_ of getting drunk.

She flustered, “Are you alright? Do you need any help?” Truthfully, she couldn’t have had less of a clue as to how to best handle her fiance showing up drunk and unannounced at her bedroom door at the creeping hours before dawn.

He shook his head, although rather aggressively enough to cause his entire body to sway slightly, concerning Corrin even more. “No, I’m all right, I think. I just…”

She leaned forward, “What?”

“Nevermind. Good night Corrin.”

She looked at him, perplexed. She wanted to coax more out of him, but decided to wait until better hours, when he might actually be able to provide a coherent explanation. She was still faintly concerned for him as well, but she doubted he would somehow manage to hurt himself within the walls of his own home. These weren’t the years of the concubine wars, after all, where some half-sibling would be residing in the shadows waiting for the opportunity to slash his throat. “I-I see,” she stammered, suddenly making herself ill at the dark thought. When he still, bizarrely enough, made no move to leave down the hallway, she meekly added, “You should go back to your bed then. It’s really late. Good night Xander.”

She slowly closed the door on him.

She didn’t even get to affixing the locks before he knocked on the door again.

She opened the door again, slowly this time, and stopped when the door was only open just wide enough for her to peek around, as if she might be surprised by who was still standing there.

“Xander. Why are you still here?”

“I think I lost the key to my room.” He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and took them out bare for emphasis.

Corrin raised her brows, not used to Xander actually misplacing things, especially things as important as the key to his room. “Oh. I see. So you can’t get back into your bedroom. So you’ve come to my room and….you know we could just wake up Gu….”

If she finished the thought, she would’ve suggested the simple, easy task of fetching Gunter, who had a master key to any and every room in the castle. Then the little encounter with her intoxicated, out-of-sorts fiance would be done and over with. Easy-peasy.

On the other hand, was she just not restless at her window sill just moments ago, brooding over how terribly long and boring the night was, resenting how Xander would never ever toe the line out of decency and do something as atrociously improper as disturb a lady in her bedroom past curfew?

Yet here he was.

“Um…” she opened the door wider and stood there shyly, fidgeting with her hands, “You know...it’d be only for this night until we could find your key in the morning, but….”

Xander stared at her fidgeting hands, too charmed and oddly entranced by her nervous little tick to fully comprehend where she was going with this, “Hmm?”

“You could just…stay in my room.” She half expected a rejection, followed by a well-intentioned but insufferable lecture on how she shouldn’t invite men into her room at night, even if she was getting married to said man next week.

“I see,” he nodded thoughtfully as if she had offered some revolutionary new idea, “I suppose there’s no helping it. Thank you.”

She was already quite taken aback by his acceptance, even more-so when he casually strode in and beelined for her bed, kicked off his boots, pulled off his vest and cravat and rather rudely threw them down to the floor, and fell into the pillows facefirst.

Stunned, she could only stare at him, unwilling to believe that he would do something so abrupt and impolite. The strange, indistinct humming sounds he started to make, muffled by the cushions, brought her to her senses again, and she closed the door, affixed the locks, and took to her seat on a reading chair across from the bed.

There were a few moments that passed between them with no exchange of words. She briefly wondered if he somehow fell asleep face-down like that. It looked awfully comical and she half-wished she could get some portrait painter to capture the moment.

Suddenly, still muffled by the cushions, he spoke, “...smmss mmk mmm.”

“Huh?”

It finally occurred to him that being muffled by the pillows would end a conversation before it would even begin, so he turned his head towards her. “Your bed. It smells like you. Like lavender and persimmons. How do you always smell like that?”

It was such a bold, rather intrusive question. So very unlike him. “I…didn’t realize. It’s probably the scented oils Flora always pours into the bath waters for me. It’s actually vanilla and persimmons...I think.”

He hummed in satisfaction at the answer, repeating the word “vanilla” to himself in odd, childlike marvel. She pursed her lips, the discomforting strangeness of the situation suddenly dawning upon her; that the undignified man who threw his clothes down on the floor, slammed into her bed without warning, and marvelled over the concept of vanilla as if it was a recent discovery could actually be her fiance.

“Say,” she started, bringing her knees up to her chest, “Why are you drunk? I mean, _how_ are you drunk? You never drink more than a glass of wine at dinner.”

He abruptly sat up then, leaned himself up against the bed frame, tilted his head back, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He looked like a darkly brooding protagonist from some melodramatic play like this. “Ah. You’d want to know that. You see, I was just at my own bachelor party, except I didn’t know it was a bachelor party.” At this, he splayed out his fingers, covered his entire face and let out a long, rough sigh.

“What? A bachelor party….?” she was surprised. How many times since his marriage proposal had Xander reiterated he’d loathe a bachelor party?

“Yes,” he deadpanned, clearly exasperated at the memory, “I mean. For the most part we--we as in Leo, Laslow, Niles and Odin--just drank and drank and chatted and then…”

“Then…?

“There was dancers. Those dancers from Cykrensia.”

Her eyebrows flew up. She attempted a blasé air as she continued her questioning. “I see...and what happened?”

“Well. l left as soon as they came--the dancers I mean. No one even warned me some were even coming--none were supposed to even come, it wasn’t even supposed to be a bachelor party! But shame on me for believing Laslow of all people when he insisted it wasn’t. You know, the dancers were probably his id--”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Corrin said, stopping his ramblings, “You just _left_ as soon as the dancers came?”

“I wasn’t about to stay for the performance,” he said this so matter-of-factly that Corrin couldn’t help but suddenly laugh. The sheer mental image of Xander--too steadfast to his code of chivalry; whom Laslow was too foolish to ever believe could ever be so carefree or recklessly indulgent enough to enjoy that sort of entertainment--abruptly stopping his own bachelor party and fleeing the scene of the crime was so amusing to her; that through the late hour casual bonding time with men and his own drunkenness he could still be so offended by such a display. It was hilarious. It was charming.

She smiled to herself as he continued rambling on about how he was surely going to scold Laslow’s ear off in the morning, and perhaps throw him in the dungeons for good measure.

She tilted her head, her mouth still quirked up in bemusement, “I thought you never wanted a bachelor party? That you felt it frivolous and unnecessary.”

Xander, smoothing his hair back and looking at the wall in front of him, said, “Oh. I didn’t. I still don’t. Laslow convinced me it was just supposed to be some ‘quality bonding time.’” He said the last part with an offensive, poor mimic of Laslow’s accented lilt.

“I see…Laslow would be the sort to trick you into coming into your own bachelor party.”

“You know, actually, the whole thing was Leo’s idea. Gods, I hope he wasn’t the one to invite the dancers. I can’t throw my own brother into the dungeons.”

“Really?! I thought Leo hated bachelor parties too...or any kind of party for that matter!”

He lolled his head over to look at her. She noted how a lock of his hair fell out of place and fell into his eyes. So unfairly handsome, even now. “Perhaps, deep down all men are the same.” His gaze suddenly became became much more heated and pointed. Combined with the late night hours and the fact he was essentially sneaking into her room, it was very strangely flustering for her. “Perhaps I’m the same. As all men.”

She frowned at the statement, almost offended on his behalf that he would make such a suggestion. “No, you’re not. You’re different.”

“How am I different? What makes you so sure I’m different? What do you like so much about me?”

It was not the sort of questioning that was typical of him. Their relationship was a comfortable, assuredly reciprocated one (perhaps an understatement for an engaged couple). The insecurities and paranoid, self-derisive questions of “Am I enough?” of new mutual love were long stampeded out as the two settled into an easy rhythm with one another. Nowadays, Xander would be hard-pressed to find reason to seek out validation on his own feelings towards Corrin, especially not from her. It was usually enough for him that she could simply be there, to look at him and smile reassuringly. There were moments of course, when the touches lingered a little too long at the end of the day because they were secretly too restless and too encapsulated in each other to want to retire their separate ways. There were other times he’d kiss a little too roughly and immodestly because he wasn’t sure he could keep his sanity intact during the three weeks he’d have to spend on some diplomatic mission away from Corrin. Regardless, he would never outright ask her to explain her feelings to him.

So, being urged to do exactly that—and even if he was intoxicated, it was still more directness and prying than she was used to from him—she could only stammer, “Don’t...make me say such embarrassing things. I’m not even sure if you would remember this tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll tell you what I like so much about you.”

“Huh..?”

“Your courage,” he continued, suddenly more enunciated now, as if this were some grand speech he’s been preparing for his whole life, “Both on the battlefield and off. You never seem to waver--even when the world seems set against you,” he smiled at this. Her ears burned. “Your sincerity, You put your full heart into everything and sometimes it scares me to see you do that, because I don’t want to see you get disappointed. Your kindness. You see the g--Oh.” He opened his arms up and raised them towards her, “I just realized that I’m alone with you in your bedroom, and you’ve been giving me a strange look. Were you hoping to cuddle?”

Her hands flew up to cover the offending expression. She sheepishly admitted, “I...have been looking at you strangely, haven’t I? But it’s not because I want to cud….”

He was giving her a wide-eyed, expectant look. So unfair. So stupidly handsome and unfair. She slumped her shoulders in defeat.

She got up from her chair and made her way over to the bed. She hesitated for a moment above him, giving him the opportunity to perhaps magically sober up, come to his senses, and back-peddle on the whole uncharacteristically, shockingly, _too-good-to-be-true_ scandalous situation. When he only gave the same wide-eyed look, his raised arms beckoning her to come closer, she sighed and sat down at the edge of the bed. She scooted over and shyly curled into him, her head and hands leaned into his chest, as he circled his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in closer. He lost himself for a moment, humming appreciatively as he leaned his cheek against her head. The situation was bizarre and unexpected, but she couldn’t deny that the familiar warmth of Xander’s body sank into her heart, and brought with it a comforting ease. She let out a soft breath she didn’t realize she was holding in.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling her face suddenly twist into a scowl against his chest.

“It’s just…” there was really no kinder way for her to put this, “You really reek of ale.”

“Oh. My apologies. We don’t have to cuddle.”

“No, it’s ok,” though she did lean back away from his chest a little, “Can you continue...with why you like me?”

“Ah yes,” he stopped nuzzling into her hair and propped his chin on her head instead, looking upwards at the ceiling as he attempted to recall his thoughts. “Your kindness. You see the goodness in everyone. Even me, somehow,” his voice suddenly became softer, as if he did not want to risk this secret escaping into the void, where it may fall upon insensitive, unwanted ears, taking the precaution to make sure it passes on safely to Corrin, to do with as she pleases, “And it still surprises me. It feels like everyone else in the world believes me cruel and yet somehow the Gods found the mercy to let the person I love most look upon me with such fondness.”

“I thought we moved past you belittling yourself like that.” In a recollection of the night, Corrin would chide herself for such a silly response to Xander’s declaration.

“Mmm. Blame the ale.”

It was then he suddenly shifted slightly away from her so that she was no longer tucked and hidden away under his chin. He brought his eyes down to hers, baring an alarming intensity with his gaze that a man as drunk as he was should not possess. It subtly intimidated her, so she could only manage a shy, hesitant peek back up at him, as if fearing he would mercilessly scrutinize her for all her flaws and imperfections.

He did scrutinize her, but if he never in his life found particular fault in her before, he certainly did not now. Her eyebrows were knit together in faint concern, her nose was scrunched in the most unfairly adorable way possible, and her mouth was slightly twisted up in perplexity. He would’ve kissed her then, he thought, if the vestiges of sobriety weren’t already clawing at the edges of his hazy mind, scolding him for how horribly indecent and tactless he was already being; and also, of course, if she hadn’t already complained about the stench of ale on him.

So instead, before he even realized he had, he softly uttered, “You’re so lovely.”

Corrin blinked, “Ah...that’s not new. You say that when you’re sober.”

“I know.”

She felt her heart skip.

Xander prodded onwards, his hands thoughtlessly smoothing out the folds of fabric on the back of Corrin’s nightgown, stretching the thin material out across the expanse of her skin. A more sober version of himself would recognize the gesture as too intimate, borderline obscene even, especially when taking the context of them being alone in her bedroom at night into consideration. She tried to assure to herself that it was meant to be innocent, but nonetheless, her stomach flipped. “Will you tell me now? The things you like about me?” His voice was low, insistent, almost alluring. She couldn’t help the chills down her spine, frustratingly overwhelmed by a man who wasn’t even trying to make her feel overwhelmed.

She moved her eyes down to his throat, all flustered and beside herself. When she did not say anything, Xander leaned down and softly bumped his nose into hers. “Please?” he said, his mouth quirked in a small, reassuring smile, “It’s only fair.”

She couldn’t help but smile back, letting out a breathy, nervous giggle. “I wouldn’t be nearly as eloquent.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Corrin contemplated to herself for a moment, then adjusted herself so that she was leaned in closer, her ear pressed up against his chest. She was just barely able to make out the steady pounding of his heart. It was oddly calming.

“I really don’t know where to begin,” her words came out in a frustrated rush, “The sheer thought of trying to put my feelings into words seems so silly, because they’re so...so much more than me. If I just say things like ‘I like your strength, your shrewdness, your honesty’, I’d feel like I’d be trivializing who you are to me. Is that unfair of me? We’re to be married next week and I still don’t know how to exactly voice my feelings. But I want to be able to. I want to put everything into us because you’ve given me so much al--”

She stopped, suddenly self-conscious at how much she let herself ramble. She leaned back and peered back up him, holding her breath and half-expecting him to be disappointed. Instead, he broadened his face into a wide smile, bringing a hand up to smooth the hair out of her face.

“Thank you,” he said so softly, so gently, so earnestly that it chilled her skin. She opened and closed her mouth, unsure of what to say next, when he suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! That’s right, I left my key in my coat pocket…” his expression turned grim, “and I left my coat on my chair back at that damned party.”

“Oh. I see,” Corrin said, his realization reminding her that he was still drunk, and she was letting herself be charmed by his drunkenness, for some reason, “Do you want to go fetch it?”

He furrowed his brow as he considered the possibility, then finally decided, “That can wait until the morning,” and shimmied the both of them lower so they were lying down and resting their heads against her pillows, “I’m quite fine here.”

“Are...are you sure about this?” Corrin asked, despite the fact she was already adjusting herself to lie more comfortably against him.

“It’d be like when we fall asleep on one of our picnics. Or on the sofa in the library,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling it over them, a satisfied look on his face.

She laughed. “You’re right.”

His ensuing smile was carefree and boyish and radiant.

 

* * *

 

The grey morning light of autumnal Nohr gave the dining hall of Castle Krakenburg a lethargic, mild glow, offering none of the jolt to the senses that a shock of bright morning light would have. It was unfortunate for Corrin, Camilla, and Elise, whom, transitioning from the bedroom to the dining hall, needed all the stimulus they could receive to chase away the heaviness of short-lived slumber out of their bodies. In contrast, Xander and Leo, each nursing their own pounding headaches, could do with even less light. Optimally, they could be cooped up in some dark, quiet room in the castle somewhere until their temples stopped threatening to burst open, spilling forth all the kingdom history and combat strategies they spent too long and too much of their lives studying and committing to memory. It would be, as Leo thought dryly to himself, a truly tragic waste of valuable resources.

As Corrin yawned, making a feline yowl as she did so, she wondered how much memory of the prior night Xander had retained. She wondered if he would remember that they did fall asleep for only a moment until Gunter, ever the wary war veteran with an unusual and somewhat frightening sixth sense for disturbances to the peace, had checked up on Corrin and asked if she was doing alright; that Corrin, never wanting to lie to the dear old man, told him that Xander was in bed with her; that Gunter used his master key to barge in and scold Xander for such an indecent act--that he really couldn’t have just waited one more week to do this when they were married; that these words fell on deaf ears because Xander was sleeping too heavily and deeply to be disturbed by anything; that Gunter gave a defeated sigh and had resigned to hauling the prince over his shoulders, bringing him back to Xander’s own room whilst muttering on and on about how crude and hormonal the youth were these days.

The princes and princesses all took to their usual places at the dining table, Corrin’s and Xander’s being naturally right next to each other. She chirped a cheery “Good morning Xander” to him as he sat down. He gave her a strained “Good morning, dear” back, not wanting to let the sheer agony of his hangover to contort his tone into a cruel one, especially not for his fiancee.

When, despite Corrin’s insistent, questioning looks, he did not address anything of the events of the prior night and merely started eating his breakfast and making occasional additions to the mundane conversation on the weather, she sighed, and concluded he couldn’t remember anything. She wanted to settle on feeling relieved, knowing Xander would feel too humiliated and too guilty for his—as he would condemn it as—vulgar behavior. Instead, she couldn’t help the pinch of disappointment in her stomach, a large part of her wanting to keep such a strange but sweet memory alive between them.

She would find out later on in the day that Xander did remember everything. In fact, that morning, coming out of his bedroom—unsure how he was even back in his bedroom—, he met with Leo and made a verbal agreement to not speak of the events of last night to anyone uninvolved; that no one needed to know there was a bachelor party that wasn’t even supposed to be a bachelor party; that Xander’s foolish retainer had hired dancers; that said retainer used some of the sanctioned matrimony funds for the non-refundable down payment on the dancers that were sent away as soon as Xander had ran off.

Xander’s temple gave a particularly angry pulse as he thought of all the paperwork he’d have to write up to order Laslow’s banishment to the dungeons.

He looked over at Corrin, eager for some privacy with her and to apologize and grovel and beg for her forgiveness for his indiscretion and that if she ever felt like she was being forced upon he can understand and he can delay or even cancel the wedding even if it would kill him inside and-

It was then, despite the tepid, humorless conversation being held at the table, Corrin let out a soft giggle. The way the tops of her cheeks faintly reddened and how her fingers flew up to cover her mouth gave the impression of a person privately amusing themselves with a memory. A memory of last night, perhaps.

She noticed him looking at her and gave a small, reassuring smile.

It was a marvelous thing how, despite the violent pounding in his head, the stiffness in his joints caused from a disturbing lack of sleep, or his earlier wallow in his own guilt and shame, she could still make him feel so wonderful and complete.


End file.
